A Little Room
by thewaitwasworthitlove
Summary: Draco Malfoy finds his home a safe house to none other than Hermione Granger. His ex-best friend is on the loose, hunting her. It's Draco's job to figure out why. Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
1. Chapter 1

"_For love all love of other sights controls,  
And makes one little room an everywhere"_- Donne

Draco Malfoy did not enjoy surprises.

In fact, he loathed them. But, oddly, he always enjoyed surprising others. And nothing seemed to astonish people more than when they came into the Department of Aurors and saw him sitting there, shirtsleeves pushed up past the elbows, deatheater tattoo on display. Draco liked to make people nervous, and never did they seem to squirm more than when he sat across from them smirking after asking them question after question relentlessly. Draco made most people nervous these days. This seemed linked to the fact that he had originally been hired to track down the people he used to call friends. He had a knack for this; people always spilled their guts when he was the one interrogating. So, after all of his old playmates had been rounded up, Kingsley Shacklebolt had come into Draco's office personally to ask him to stay on full-time.

The years after the War had been the worst years and best years of Draco's life. On the plus side, he didn't have to pretend with anyone anymore. On the down side, there weren't that many people hanging around for Draco to experience his new freedom with. To say that he was an outsider was an understatement. The first few months seem to pass in a daze. Even now, Draco had a hard time remembering any point in time between June and Christmas. The only day that stood out was one of supreme happiness, the day of his father's death. Draco had spent the morning roaming the Manor's forest. He had found himself increasingly attracted to the calm, penetrating quiet of the ancient woods. His contemplation was only broken by an earsplitting scream. When he entered the manor grasping at his stitched side, he realized the shouts were now sobs coming from his parents' bedroom. He saw the door ajar and could hear his mother's cries from within. On the floor was Lucius. Silver hair fanned out all around his face, his eyes wide open and already milky. He had done what came naturally to him and, yet again, took the easy way out. Beside him lay a dagger, his implement of choice. The knife had been in his family for years and years, far longer than anyone could remember. It was powerful. It was also the one that Bellatrix Lastrange had used to torture Hermione Granger on the Malfoy's floor. Carving into her like a Halloween pumpkin. Now it lay discarded after being used on its own master with his own hands. Lucius had turned his arms to ribbons, seemingly convinced that one slice was simply not enough. For the first time in a long time, Draco agreed with his father.

Draco had become sole possessor of the Malfoy fortune overnight. Obviously, one of the richest men in England (wizard or no) didn't need a ministry job to support himself. So, when he came to work for the department, more than one person questioned his motifs. Draco chuckled at that. Must he always have some underlying plot like some kind of scheming villain? Maybe some things never do change. It was true; Draco didn't do this for the money. He also didn't do it to save face or repair his reputation, as everyone believed. Frankly, he couldn't have cared less what the hallway gossips said about him when he walked by their desks every morning. He was doing this for his own reasons. So, he admitted, maybe everyone wasn't too far off from the truth. Besides, what good is a Malfoy without a motif?

Draco was sitting at his desk with his feet propped up, looking out a window. The first thing he had done when he got his office was to turn the desk from its original position facing the doorway to face backwards at a marvelous view of downtown London. For a muggle city, Draco had to admit it wasn't all that bad. When work became stressful or Draco felt his temper rise, he would simply look out at the cityscape and admire it for its complexity. Muggles were smart. That much he had to admit. They seemed to cope so well without magic. Their giant red trolley buses and telephone booths amused him greatly and on more than one occasion. He was fascinated with this world that he had never seen before. He was so enthralled with it that when hours of work had become long and Narcissa particularly distant, he had decided to take out a small flat here in the heart of the city. It had taken some convincing on his part to keep his mother from believing he had lost his mind.

As he watched from his office perch, his favorite game was to pick out one muggle and follow their course in this part of the city until he couldn't see them anymore. Some of them dawdled, going from store front to store front. Some of them walked quickly, looking straight ahead, never veering off course, never stopping. Those were the ones that Draco pitied. They always seemed to be on the go and never took the time to appreciate their surroundings. From his vantage point he could see the bigger picture. He had always despised those who could not. In honesty, it's what made him so good at what he did. He was cunning, and he could see all the pieces and how they locked together. He could also see when they didn't.

Just like himself and Pansy. He sighed lightly.

Thinking of her always caused a slight tightening in his chest. At first after the divorce, he had thought it was because he still loved her, still cared for her in some incomprehensible way. As time when on, he understood that it wasn't longing he was feeling. It was guilt, shame, and embarrassment that caused his breathing to cut short and his eyes to crinkle up in a pained wince. He had mistreated her. He had been less than the man he expected himself to be. That much was true, but she was so damn _unbearable_. She was unbearable because she was perfect, everything he could have ever wanted, but didn't. She was beautiful. He had never tired of her body. On lonely nights he still caught himself thinking of the dip of her waist and fullness of her hips, the skin, young and supple, drawn tightly over the bones and muscles, but even that was too much, too perfect, too symmetrical. Worse yet, she had _loved_ him, truly loved him. That made it all the harder to look up at her at breakfast, her hair deliciously rumpled, her watery blue eyes locked on him, and tell her that he simply didn't. Never had. Never would. He had went to the office that morning and when he returned home all of her things were gone. No note. No good-byes, just the way that Draco had wanted it. Even in her departure Pansy Parkinson Malfoy had read Draco's mind and acted her part bloody perfectly. It only made him hate her more.

He let his eyes get lost in the knots of people pouring into the streets of the city. It was lunch time and he ignored the piled up inbox that desperately needed his complete attention for his favorite of past times. He chose a woman making her way through the crowds deliberately without looking up at anything around her. Draco had always watched people, from earliest childhood. His parents had taught him to be seen and not heard, which meant that Draco watched more, talked less than the usual child. For some reason, he had always loved the meditation of pure silence. He wanted nothing more than to retreat into his own head and watch the world go by. He focused on the woman now and noticed that he had seen her before. She was a regular on this street, though he had never tracked her. He'd seen her once enter a corner coffee shop, once stop and make a phone call to someone, once stop and buy a magazine from a newspaper hut. Always the same coat, always the same hat. Never changing, just blending into the scenery.

Her face was too far off to make out. They always were. She was easy to follow because of the riot of brown curls pouring from underneath her hat. They positively foamed against the paleness of her skin. She walked in an unyieldingly straight line, expecting lesser mortals to part on the street for her, which they did, it seemed. Her head was held high, and she looked straight ahead. She was not like the others that he had seen so full of hustle and bustle that they failed to notice any detail of the glorious city around them. She seemed like a queen, the city, her subject. Unafraid of her power, she chose to wear it as a mantle. He noticed that her hips did not swing like most confident women's. It was obviously not in her beauty in which her self-assurance lie, Draco surmised. She didn't want to attract people to her body. She walked like a man. Draco took a stab in the dark and assumed that this was a woman you didn't want to cross, one that wouldn't back down if you screamed, her eyes filled with crocodile tears, her upturned face begging for an apology. No, she was the type of woman that fought back with nails like claws, the type his father had always told him needed to be put back in their place with firm hands and harsh words.

Draco's eyes followed her. To his surprise, she quickly approached one of the telephone booths which the ministry used as an entrance point to the building. She tilted her head up to look at the "Danger, Stay Out" sign briefly before glancing around herself, entering it, and promptly disappearing. So, she wasn't a muggle after all, but why did he see her on these streets so often? And, why then did she choose to enter the ministry that way? As far as Draco knew, he was the only ministry employee that chose to live in this area of town, and the first thing he had done to his flat was to have the deep stone fireplace outfitted to connect to the floo network. Most wizards and witches, even those not employed by the Ministry of Magic opted to use this method or Apparition to get to the Ministry. No one had used that entrance in years. Draco shook this off and finally turned himself to his inbox, which had been quietly over filling with enchanted notes and reports since his little diversion had begun. He was in the middle of a case report when he heard a quick raping at his door. Draco didn't bother turning around. What would be the point when already knew who it was.

"Hello, Potter." He said nonchalantly. He turned his chair around to face the savior of the wizarding world.

"Malfoy, how's the Roderick report going?" Harry asked looking over Draco's shoulder. He wasn't meeting Draco's eyes, something very uncharacteristic for his earnest, straight-forward boss. At first, he thought it would be awkward to work for the Boy Wonder, but he had found that Harry hadn't forgotten his mother's kindness to him. The two found that working together was one of the most natural things in the world. Harry was in charge which made him feel like he had the upper hand over Draco's temper and ego, and Draco, ever the elitist, knew that his money and his name gave him a level of good manners and privilege that Harry would never quite understand.

Both men would have never admitted it, but each one was the only person that still treated the other as a person. Harry got so tired of people falling all over themselves when he went anywhere or did anything. Malfoy was about the only person he knew that couldn't have cared less that Harry had brought peace to their world. At the same time, Draco had gotten used to the whispers and sneaky glances when no one thought that he was looking. He had grown accustom to people staring at the tattoo on his arm and then quickly changing their direction on a street. However, Harry was one of the only people that didn't bring up Draco's past, who wasn't even a little bit afraid of him. In short, Harry was the only person Draco couldn't surprise. They had forged not a friendship but a level of mutual respect that hadn't existed when they were boys.

"It's going fine," Draco said speculatively, "Now, what is it that you actually need to tell me, Potter?"

Harry sighed heavily, "Look Draco, this is uncomfortable, but we have an issue." Draco's eyes narrowed as Harry continued on. "Blaise is back in England."

Draco's mouth dropped at the news. He had worked for the past five years to round up all of the supporters of Voldemort that were still out there. All major cohorts had been accounted for in some way except for Draco's former best friend. Blaise had entered the leagues of the Dark Lord two months after Draco had taken his oath to kill Albus Dumbledore, and it was no secret to any of those in the Dark Lords inner circle that Blaise had quickly surpassed the Malfoy heir in all ways. Blaise was ruthless in his work to assist He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. There was no work he wouldn't do, no matter how savage. Draco had chased Blaise all over the countryside, Blasie staying close enough to toy with Draco and far enough away to make it bloody impossible to find him. This pattern had continued for about 18 months until one day the trail went cold. He just disappeared. He was the only person that Draco had failed to catch. Draco hadn't forgiven him for that.

"How do you know?" Draco asked, wondering how he could have possibly missed a clue. Catching Blaise sat constantly in the back of Draco's mind, his white whale.

"We have a victim who was attacked by him last night," Harry said his voice tightening. Draco guessed that this wasn't just any victim. Draco straightened his posture slightly. He had to talk to this person immediately. Had to get into the memories and dissect them for clues about Blaise.

"She's here and I'd like for you to speak with her," Harry said, giving him exactly what he wanted.

"Well, by all means send her in. Would you like to assist me?" Draco asked, feeling slightly confident in his interrogation skills. Everyone in the department knew that he was the best at getting down to the information that really mattered in a case.

"No, no. She's told me all she needs to. And besides, if we need more from her I can just ask her about it later." Potter said. "It's not like we don't know –" Potter stopped himself and changed gears. "Well I suppose it'll make sense soon enough. I'll let you handle this on your own."

Draco wasn't exactly sure how to interpret this little interlude, so he merely cleared his throat and nodded as Potter began to leave the room.

"I'll go ahead and send her in, then," Potter said.

Draco turned back around in his chair to face the windows yet again.

"Oh, and Malfoy?"

"Yes?" he answered already looking out again at the pebble grey sky.

"I do hope you're in the mood for a reunion." Draco heard the door shut, and he stayed eerily still, letting all that Harry had said sink in.

He was in the middle of his contemplation when he was again interrupted by a quiet knock at the door.

"Come in," he said. His eyes locked on the clouds.

"Well, Malfoy," she said, her voice deeper than the last time they had seen each other, "I can't say I'm terribly surprised that your manners are as abysmal as they always were."


	2. Chapter 2

Draco spun around and met the brown eyes he hadn't expected to see. Her chin was already set stubbornly, already preparing for battle. Always the consummate Gryffindor.

"Granger, I can't say that I'm shocked that you have once again found yourself in another mess that you do not know how to get yourself out of. Take a seat," he said indicating the leather covered chair opposite him. She took off the jacket he had seen her wear a hundred times, the eggplant hat, too. She was the woman he had seen this morning and all those other mornings. It was obvious that his assumptions were correct. Hermione had become very comfortable in her skin in the past few years, and Draco had to admit that it had done her good. She was small, compact just as Draco had remembered her; however, he hadn't remembered the curves that filled out the ruffled dress shirt and dress slacks she wore. Draco forcibly stopped his eyes from scanning her up and down.

Hermione took a seat and stared him dead in the face, quietly waiting for him to begin his questions.

"Hermione, why did Blaise come for you?" He asked getting to the root the matter, he knew her and knew she would appreciate his frankness, even though she was sure to feed him a line of utter bullshit.

She began to look to her side before realizing that this would appear conspicuous to him. Too late.

"I dunno, Malfoy."

He stared at her for a minute before continuing. "Right, so I'm just left to believe that Blaise showed up on his first night back in the United Kingdom and attacked you, a person that he knew for at least seven years, out of sheer coincidence? You'll have to do better than that, Granger."

"What are you implying?" She said shrilly, her eyes narrowing at the unstated implications of his reply. "Do you think we fancied each other or something? Maybe you think I passed him information from the Order?"

"All I know is what you've told me Granger, which is nothing, by the way. Further, I didn't suggest either of those alternatives, you did." He said succinctly. "I suggest you cool your temper. It won't do you any good here," He said casually picking at his fingernails. He looked up to meet stony gaze, her face turning first puce with unquailed rage and then suddenly righted to its normal peaches and cream. Her throat was strained as she began again.

"All I know is that I went to bed last night after a bit of reading,"

_Big shock there_, Draco thought to himself.

"And I woke up to someone breathing heavily on my face. I quickly grabbed my wand and began throwing every charm I'd ever learned at him."

_That must have been a rather long and tedious battle_, he thought, putting a hand to his mouth to hide a twitching of his upper lip. Hermione paused and looked at him oddly. "Yes," he said coughing to clear his throat awkwardly, "what happened next Granger. Did he fire anything back or—"

"He Disapparated." She said curtly.

"Interesting," Draco mumbled. "Tell me, how can you be sure it was him?"

"Well, I wasn't to be honest. I had no idea who he was. He didn't look at all like he did the last time I saw him. I went to Harry immediately and began describing the man. He had a rather peculiar scar on half of his face."

Draco immediately understood. In the days directly after Voldemort's death many of the Death Eaters had been hunted out by witches and wizards seeking revenge now that they were unprotected by the Dark Lord. Many had been killed and never had to worry about Draco sniffing them out. On one trip into Hogsmeade near Christmas, he and Blaise had been spotted and chased by a mob of villagers including Hogwarts students on a visit from the castle. Among them was Dennis Creevey who was still reeling from the death of his older brother Colin. Dennis had been in the D.A. and had learned many of the spells in Harry Potter's repertoire, including one that had left Draco bleeding in a bathroom in his sixth and final year at Hogwarts. There was a flash of light and then Blaise was down bleeding everywhere in the fresh snow. Draco had barely gotten them out in time. The wounds from_ sectumsempra _were irreparable, and so, Blaise now had a long wicked scar on the side of his face to match the one on Draco's abdomen. Unlike Draco, however, Blaise enjoyed the marking; he thought it made him look dangerous. Draco had to agree.

There was no way that Granger could have known that he had gotten that scar. Soon after that, Draco had left and joined ranks with the ministry and Blaise had gone into deep hiding. Even his wanted pictures had been before that accident. It was ingenious, really. Many people would come out of the wood work saying they had seen him or he had attacked them in order to collect reward money, but Draco quickly sorted it all out by use of that scar. It was one of his more brilliant ideas, he had to admit. Granger wasn't lying, and Draco had to suppress a shiver. It would have been better if she had been mistaken.

"Granger," he said, his voice low, "I need complete disclosure from you." He talked slowly to add extra emphasis to these words. "Is there any conceivable reason that Blaise would want to target you?"

She shook her head no and Draco let out a big sigh. Maybe she was telling the truth after all. He leaned back in his chair and swiveled around to face the window. "If that's all you have for me, you can leave."

"That's all? After some escaped murderer came into my room you ask me half a dozen questions and we're through?"

"For now, Granger. For now."

He sat there silently as she exited and didn't move for a long time.

Draco's life flowed seamlessly from one day to the next. After a long day of work, he went home to his flat, opened the door and, after putting up the appropriate wards, loosened his tie, and took off his shoes. The apartment was dark and so he went from room to room glancing at everything and turning on lights. For some reason, he had developed a hatred of darkened spaces after the war. Once he left the Dark, he had decided that it should have no place in his life.

He liked the extended metaphor in all that.

Once the rooms were bathed in artificial light, he would go to the kitchen and explore his dinner options. Draco enjoyed muggle cooking. When he had moved out of the manor and the care of the numerous house elves his family owned, he had loathed the many things he now had to do himself. But, once he got used to doing them, he found that he liked it better that way. He could do things to his specifications and didn't have to explain his peccadillos concerning cleanliness. Everything was orderly, in its right place. Cooking had been a complete mystery to Draco, however. Many nights of swearing and magic had gone by before he could make a meal without reaching for his wand. Now, he looked forward to going home and concerning himself with spices and sauces. He had leftovers from pasta Bolognese he had made the night before, and after a long week at the office, he was thankful for it. He popped it in the microwave as Granger's interview from Monday played in his head four days later. He still wasn't sure how he was going to pull any more information out of her, and, as he hadn't heard of any other appearances by Blaise, there wasn't really anywhere else to go. Draco would have to wait. Blaise could be a patient man, but it was against his nature, as was subtlety.

The microwave bell dinged. He pulled out his bowl and padded his way to the living room. Plopping down on the couch, he reached for the remote control. Draco was fascinated by the television. The day the service technician had installed his cable, he had sat in front of it in amazement. Sometimes it struck him how truly innovative muggles could be. Wizards had never needed to think in the ways that muggles do every day. They had never had to face many of their day to day difficulties. Sometimes he wondered what exactly that meant; who really had the upper hand. Muggles were, in some ways, at the mercy of wizards, but he often wondered if he and his fellow countrymen had been done a great disservice. Sure a wand could kill a person, but not even in Voldermort's wildest dreams could he have even thought of some of the ways of destroying life like muggles had. If it weren't for the protective wards that were so capable of hiding their whole society, the wizarding world would have never survived; the muggles wouldn't have allowed it.

Not only were they powerful in their destruction, but in their use of technology and science for good. Muggle scientists pondered about things that the normal wizard had never given a second thought to. Draco had watched documentaries about the human body and was amazed by what they actually knew about how his and every other human body performed. Their ways of healing were still seriously impaired by limited technological capability, but their wonder and curiosity about the natural world was not one shared by their magical brethren. He wondered what things could be accomplished if those two worlds were ever able to exist in full disclosure. So many lives saved and improved by their shared communication and experiences.

At first, these thoughts scared Draco. He had been raised to abhor muggles, to think of them no more highly than his favorite hunting dog. Often, he thought less of them. But, as he grew older he began to realize many of the things that were wrong with this world view. He began to see its inconsistencies. One day, as he was watching a scientific program about genetics he realized how necessary it was for the wizarding world to be imbued with fresh blood. Generations of inbreeding had left lines weakened, and was a probable explanation for why so many pure-blooded families ceased to exist all together. Without a healthy mixture of magical and non-magical blood, the populations would have died out completely. This was the first of many breaks in Draco's hatred. "It is _logical _for us to have them in our world because it insures our survival; however, I would never stoop to such a level." This led way to his sheer marvel at their world and its many quirks. Again, Draco had decided that this only deepened his argument of why it was a _necessity _for them to be allowed to be in his world. It wasn't until he met Anna that life had changed.

Several blocks down from Draco's flat was a small bookstore ran by a muggle lady. Draco loved reading and he had established a great affinity for muggle novels. He discovered the store one day after an afternoon stroll and found it had quite the selection of his favorites. For the next several weeks he had visited it over and over again, just looking. Finally, he convinced himself that he was being ridiculous and that he had a whole wallet full of pounds that were just sitting there, and he very well couldn't use them in his world. Once he had studied the same shelves one more time, as if much had changed in the past 24 hours, he had made his selection. William Faulkner's _Absalom! Absalom!_ and the complete anthology of John Donne poetry were tucked securely under his arm when he felt a gentle tug on his pants leg. He looked down to meet the inquisitive hazel eyes of a little girl. Her features were small and forgettable, except for her large, round eyes. Even now, Draco could remember them too well, and they haunted him. Green flicked with brown and gold, rimmed with the faintest trace of blue. On that first day, he looked down at her and was momentarily annoyed at this child interrupting him as he contemplated the stacks of old spines and jacket covers.

"Hello," she said in the high, squeaking voice so common in children.

"Hello," Draco said tersely and then turned his attention back to the shelves in front of him. He felt another tug and quickly stifled a heavy sigh.

"Why do you come here every day and not buy anything?" She asked haughtily.

"Because I'm not sure that there is anything here that I want to buy."

"You've picked up those same books," she said gesturing to the books he had tucked away under his arm, "for three days now." She said accusingly. "If you aren't going to buy anything, you really shouldn't be here. My momma says that looking isn't buying and-"

"ANNA!" He heard from behind them. He started, and whipped around to see a slim, thirty something woman scowling at the little girl. She had the same eyes as the child. "Sir," she said pleadingly, "I apologize." She walked over to the little girl and was beginning to scold her, when Draco placed a hand gently on the woman's shoulder.

"Really, it's okay. She's right you know. I've been coming in here and leaving empty-handed, and it's about time that I purchased something." She looked uncertain at his words, but stood erect from stooping over the child and gave him a tentative smile. As he wrung him up at the register, she began to warm up. Draco had the overwhelming urge to know her better. She was the first muggle he'd ever really spoken to conversationally.

He asked her to coffee the next week.

And that one time Draco had surprised himself.

It turns out Anna's mother, Elise, had been on her own for two years, and after several weeks of coffee, Draco learned why. Anna was sick, dangerously sick. Her father had left in the night, unable to take the stress of running a business and helping his wife explain to his two year old why her hair was going to fall out, why she would always be tired and sick. Anna had an aggressive form of leukemia. It was hard, but she had beaten it back into remission. Elise had struggled between chemo treatments and running a business, but somehow she had managed to keep it going, to keep everything alive, including herself. However, after several months of steady coffee dates and long evenings in the shop hanging around and entertaining Anna, the worst news came. Anna had gone in for a checkup. The news wasn't good. The cancer was back and this time it was everywhere. Draco heard words he had never heard before. _Metastasis. _ _Bone Marrow. _Ultimately, _Hospice. _

Anna died in Elise's apartment right after Christmas. Draco was there. He had cried. Loudly. He had never cried harder. Worse yet, he still hadn't stopped. Everything seemed to remind him of her. Elise went home to Northern England.

"Draco, this place, it's too painful for me to stand. This city holds all my sorrows."

"Yes, but didn't have all your hopes as well?" He looked at her, not exactly sure what he should be hoping for from her.

"Who believes in hope anymore, Draco?"

With that, a subtle kiss, and a broken smile, she left. Leaving Draco to wonder if what she said was true. After meeting them, after seeing the love and loss they too were able to experience, he had to face truths. His parents had fed him bullshit as a child. Muggles weren't that different. In fact, he wondered sometimes, if they were different at all.

Draco turned the channel on the TV and tried to pay attention to what was happening on the screen. The flashing lights and rhythmic noises quickly made his eyes grow tired.

He fell asleep, his pasta Bolognese forgotten.

A scream.


	3. Chapter 3

It pierced his sleep and then died. Draco sprang up, the bowl of food still on his lap falling to the floor, the ceramic shattered. There was pounding on his door. Quickly, he pulled his wand out of his trousers and killed the lights. His apartment had many enchantments on it. Only those who knew the address were truly able to find it. He crept silently to the door as whoever was outside began to pound on it again. He glanced in the peep hole to see a very familiar mop of brown hair.

Draco flung the door open grabbing her arm and pulling her inside. She looked momentarily relieved until he shoved her against the wall, his forearm pressing against her throat.

"What happened in third year out by the runes when I called you a . . . Mudblood?" It had been a long time since he had used that word. It felt rusty.

"Your mouth wrote a check your face couldn't cash," she said smirking. "Now, if you please," she said glancing down. Draco was completely pressed against her, a fact he was only now becoming aware of.

He released her from his grip. "Come," she said tugging at him. "We don't have much time."

"What's happening? How did you get here?"

"There's been an attack on the burrow. Harry took me—," Her face blanched paler than normal, and she clutched her side. It was then that Draco noticed the blood on her silky night shirt.

"What's wrong with you?" His eyes grew slightly larger, "You're injured."

"Nothing," she said giving a smile that much more closely resembled a grimace. "It's nothing. I'm fine. We need to get back there. Now." She said emphatically, tugging on him again.

As soon as she said this, he heard a pecking at his window. Harry Potter's large Barn Owl was perched on the ledge, a message tied to its foot. Draco wrenched open the glass, but not before locking the front door with a series of complex spells. This would occupy Granger, who was already clawing at the door.

_D-_

_I sent Hermione to you. He's here. We have everything under control. Under __no__ circumstances is she to come back here. Keep her with you. Your apartment is now the safe house. We'll be there soon. _

_H_

Blaise. He was back again. This time there could be no mistaking it. He was after her. Draco pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. They had decided earlier this week that the Burrow was a safe place where they could keep Hermione under constant protection.

"Please, will you stop that infernal racket? You know I'm not going to let you go anywhere." He looked at her as he handed her Potter's letter. She looked down at it.

"They're my friends, Malfoy. They—" She was panicking.

"Obviously thought it in your best interest to be here," he finished. "Please have a seat," he encouraged, gesturing towards the couch.

"Malfoy, I don't care what they said, I'm—"

"I _said_ have. a. seat." He said quietly, his voice turning into icicles. She sat.

He walked over to her and deftly began unbuttoning her blouse. She shrank back into the couch, but Draco shot her a look which could only be described as condescending. He wasn't here to rape her; he was just trying to fix her wound. "Please, don't be flattered."

"Are you qualified to be looking at this anyway?" She asked trying desperately hard not to be distracted by the fact that the last button had slipped mutinously from its loop.

"My talents are endless, Granger." He said. He slipped the silk shirt away from her torso. She had a sizeable gash under her right breast extending down her ribcage diagonally and ending about three inches from her navel. She was bleeding like a stuck pig, but it didn't appear to be too deep. He left her then and strolled calmly to his medicine cabinet.

"Shit," he said under his breath. All of his dittany was gone. Draco had never really been good at suturing charms and Granger wasn't exactly going to be able to do this herself. As far as he could tell, she didn't have her wand. He was momentarily puzzled until he saw the medical aid kit he had bought when he moved in. It was a bit too extensive, and in retrospect Draco had to admit he had gone a bit overboard. In his defense, at the time, things were far more dangerous and chaotic then they were now. It never hurt to be prepared.

Now, several years later, he dusted off the top of it and peeped inside. Near the bottom of the large white, plastic container, he found what he needed, Liquid Stiches. Her wound wasn't so deep that he actually needed to attempt potentially botching stiches. This would hold until the others got here and Mother Weasley could examine it. He grabbed some ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet. As he walked back into the living room he laughed lightly at how things had changed. He walked in. Granger shot him daggers. Obviously, things hadn't changed that much.

"I want to leave," She said regally.

"Tough shit. You aren't," he said nearing her. He sat on the cherry coffee table in front of the couch she was currently bleeding on. He took the white hand towel and wiped off as much of the blood as he could.

He looked her square in the eye. "This is going to hurt," he said, dumping rubbing alcohol over the wound to sterilize it. She gasped but didn't cry out, her eyes searching his for a moment.

His hands were steady, but there was a Novocain numbness in his stomach. Slowly, he pinched together the sides of her wound. She grimaced. "Sorry," he said quietly, trying to apply the goo as quickly as possible. He worked his way up her side diagonally, his fingers leaving a trail of gooseflesh behind them. Finally, he made his way to her right breast and gently grazed it as he sealed off the last of the wound. The glue dried almost immediately, and it was done. Draco wiped a fine bead of sweat from his forehead.

"Would you like another shirt?" He asked glancing at the ruined lavender pajama top.

"No, I'm quite alright," she huffed.

"Suit yourself," he said, getting up off of the hard table and going into the kitchen. He filled a glass with water and grabbed another hand towel and a broom. He had dumped pasta everywhere in the living room.

"Where did you learn to do this?" She asked as he handed her the orange pills he had laid on the end table and the glass of water.

"I spent a lot of time after the war on the road. Sometimes, when I got injured, I couldn't get out of the areas and I couldn't fix myself, so I had to take shelter with muggles. Tell them I'd been attacked by a wild animal or something. Tell them not to call the ambulances. Sometimes, they'd bandage me up. I took notes, and after a while, I didn't have to go to them at all," He grumbled. He turned to continue cleaning his mess. He didn't like questions; they have a pesky habit of turning personal.

"Ha, and you said muggles were worthless. Their medicine is pretty advanced for no magic," she said haughtily. "They can cure things you haven't even dreamed of."

Her words stung. More than she could ever realize. All he could think of was a pair of giant hazel eyes blinking up from an emaciated face, dark purple circles in the deeply set sockets. He grimaced and closed his eyes tightly as he stooped over the last of the noodles and sauce left behind from his dinner. Draco hasn't cried in a long time and he wasn't in danger of it now, but he still had to modulate his voice to insure that it remained even. He focused on sweeping up all that was left of the mess.

"I haven't said anything like that in a long time," he whispered, trying to impart some clue that he wasn't the stupid, arrogant boy she'd seen at Hogwarts. He had gotten smarter, though in honesty he had liked the arrogance, so it had stayed.

"Why can't I go back," she asked boldly ignoring his response. She was defiant. No doubt if she didn't have an eight inch long gash and no wand, she would have put up more of a fight.

"Boss's orders," he replied, throwing away the majority of the mess.

"Yes, because God knows you are so good at taking orders," she quipped. She was losing her temper. As he walked back into the living room from returning the dustpan, Draco realized she wasn't just talking about right now. She was thinking back to a decision he'd always regret. He never could stomach looking at the Astronomy Tower much after that. Even a telescope could make him bite back bile. "I mean," she continued, "that worked out _so well_ for you last time. Good thing for you better men have cleaned up your messes." He saw red. She'd never understand _why_.

He snapped. Like a flash, he was over to her, clutching her wrists in his hands and stooping down to her level. Her eyes grew wide at this display of speed and power. His voice was solid, heavy like soaked velvet. He nearly purred, she realized, even when he was angry. He stared at her, his silver eyes burning into her bronze ones. "Look, I know we have more past than two people ever really need. I played for the wrong team. I get that, but I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't use it as fodder every time we are in the same room for over a minute. I changed my mind. I _grew _up. I realized what was happening. Pardon me, if I didn't come to that conclusion on your time schedule. Now, you're hurt, Harry made the call, and he knew you'd be safe here with me. Do you honestly think he'd send one of his best friends to someone that he didn't completely trust? "

She shook her head _no._

He straightened and stepped back from her and sighed. He brushed his hand through the back of his hair. Something that, Hermione thought, reminded her eerily of Harry. "Granger, I'm sorry I was a prat in school, and trust me, I'm sorry I was born into the family I was born into. It very nearly ruined my life, ended my life. Now please can we move past this? I'm not asking you to be friends, but I am asking you to respect me enough to realize what I've been through, just like I acknowledge what Potter and you and everyone else in this bloody city have been through. All I'm asking you to be is an adult."

Everything was quiet for a moment. Draco looked at her intensely as she gathered her thoughts and began to speak.

"Malfoy, I—." There was a green glow from the fireplace and Harry's ashy head popped up from between the logs.

Harry studied Malfoy for a moment as he stopped down and then asked, "What happens on Thursdays?" he asked eyeing Malfoy suspiciously.

"Fire whiskeys at the Leaky Caldron. Generally," he said looking every bit a Malfoy, "you can't hold your liquor. Who did I want with me in the Forbidden Forest first year?"

"Fang, you great, bloody coward." Harry replied smirking. The smile didn't reach his eyes. "We aren't going to come out tonight. Blaise has left as far as we can tell, but I'm not entirely sure he isn't tracking us right now. How's your guest?" he asked peeping over Draco's shoulder.

"I'm fine Harry. If you can't come to me, can I come to you?" she asked approaching the fireplace and pushing Malfoy out of the way behind her.

"Not a chance 'Mione. I think it's pretty clear at this point that Blaise is after you."

"But Harry—," she started.

Harry traded looks with Malfoy over Hermione's shoulder. Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I don't think Granger relishes an evening with me, Potter."

Harry sighed. "Hermione, it's not safe for you here. I can't guarantee he won't come back. You'll be safer at Malfoy's tonight. I swear we'll be there first thing in the morning as soon as we can make a good sweep of the area."

Hermione grumbled as she straightened back up. "Alright, Harry, but you promise. First thing?" she asked, glancing briefly in Draco's direction.

"Yes, Hermione," he groaned, "You'll be fine with Malfoy. Besides, I'm sure he wants time to question you anyway." He looked at Draco, "We'll be there in the morning. There's no way he should know where she is or what she is doing, but that doesn't mean he doesn't. Take care you two." With a pop he was gone and the room was dark again.

Draco looked at Hermione. The room was dark, but he could still make out the darkened circles under her eyes. She must not have been sleeping well since the last attack. He thought of Blaise and the wicked grin he had after killing; he didn't blame her for her sleepless nights.

"Granger, do you feel well enough to answer some more questions?"

"I don't know," she snapped looking out the window. Draco walked closer; her cheeks were wet. She was scared.

"Granger," he whispered. He approached her tentatively, like approaching a wild animal. He could see it in her eyes; she felt trapped, like a fox in a snare. Draco remembered that feeling from years ago. Memories of the Manor after his failed attempt to kill Dumbledore played again in his brain. There were no guarantees; he wasn't supposed to live, but he did. He remembered waiting day after day for someone to show up in his room, sneak up, and kill him as he read at his desk. That feeling was horrible. After that, Draco promised himself never to be trapped again, never be out of the driver's seat, never out of control.

She stood there, still, letting the tears run slick spots down her cheeks as she closed her eyes.

"Granger," he began again, "we don't have to do this tonight. Let's just—"

"Why does he keep doing this? What does he want from me?" She pleaded, looking at Draco as if he knew the answer.

Draco thought a moment and spoke slowly, trying to keep his voice as soothing as possible as he closed the remaining gap between himself and her. "I don't know, Granger. We'll get to the bottom of this. We always do." He was about a foot away from her now and he could see the pained expression on her face.

Granger.

He remembered that she had kept a low profile after the war, trying her best, he supposed to move away from it. She'd gotten a job researching. He didn't know much about it other than what her file had said. Her floo records showed a lot of travel, a lot of it on her own. It must have been lonely work, but also very private. Tentatively, he reached a hand out to her and grasped her upper arm lightly. She opened her eyes, shocked by the contact. "I promise, Hermione, I won't let him hurt you or anyone else." Her name was exotic on his tongue, spicy even. His lips wrapped themselves around the unfamiliar string of consonants and vowels. She looked at him for a moment and then just nodded. He released her and stepped outside of her personal space, more for his benefit than hers. She took a deep breath and wiped the last of the tears from her face.

"Right, well..." she trailed off, her warm eyes brimming with tears of frustration and exhaustion as they peered into him.

Draco gave a short not of his head, "We can talk about it in the morning. Please make yourself at home. The bathroom is through there to your right. I'm sure you'll find everything you need. My bedroom is across from the bath."

Her eyes widened at his proposition. He chuckled at her apprehension. _Stupid man, now she really thinks you're going to rape her,_ he thought to himself. "As my guest, I'd like you to have my bed. I'll sleep out here on the couch. Hopefully, we won't have any nighttime visitors, but it never hurts to be sure." He fought the twitching urge in his upper lip to smirk at her.

"Right," she breathed. He turned around and began to walk back into the bathroom to return the glue to the first aid kit.

"Uh, Malfoy?"

He stopped, stilled between the entrance to the hallway and the living room, his head turned over his shoulder.

"Thank you," she whispered stiffly.

He turned his head straight ahead, as he smirked into the darkness of the hallway before walking on.


	4. Chapter 4

Something wasn't right. His back was in knots. He could hear bumps and thumps. He shot up, sleep still fogging his mind. As he took in the trappings of his living room, the night before came back to him. He stretched before swinging his feet out of his makeshift bed. Padding his way into the kitchen, he heard murmurings and smelled something distinctively burnt.

"Fuck… fuck. Shit." Granger was muttering under her breath. There she stood, hair disheveled, still in the clothes she had on from the night before. Draco's kitchen was a mess. Runny egg shells lay strewn on his counter tops. Somehow she had managed to overturn his salt grinder, the salt crystals drowning in the slimy egg whites. He frowned at the mess, but as he watched her, he couldn't help but smile at her attempts at domesticity. He'd never really seen Granger as much of a domestic, but at the same time it was intriguing to watch her fail at something, and not just failing, but crashing and, apparently, burning.

"Granger," he drawled, watching her back tense. She hadn't heard him come up behind her. She turned and saw him leaning up against the entrance to the room. He walked over and peered down at the eggs, now the color of cardboard with a layer of fine black crisp at the edges. "I think we can safely assume that the eggs are done. Past done, really."

She huffed and crossed her arms. "Oh, come off it, Malfoy, like you could really do any better without your wand."

"Hopefully, that is where you are wrong, Granger. Stand aside," he said, shooing her to the kitchen table. He worked methodically, dumping her _creation _pan and all in the sink, sweeping her egg and salt sea into the trash can, and starting from scratch. She watched in quiet amazement as he whisked the eggs frothy.

"Cooking isn't really my strong suit," she muttered apologetically.

"Hmm, you don't say. What would you like in your omelet?" He asked, pulling milk out of the refrigerator and adding a splash to the eggs.

"Surprise me," she grumbled, clutching the cup of black coffee he'd just made her and staring down at the table.

"Why, Granger, I thought I already had," he said looking down at the whisk in his hand and feigning surprise.

She snorted at this and Draco felt his insides jerk up. His hands stopped moving and he was still as he analyzed this new development. _Well, _he thought, _that was unexpected_. He liked her laugh. For a misplaced moment, he thought he might do almost anything to make her laugh. He shook the thought away and refocused himself on cooking and away from the leggy, curly haired brunette sitting feet away in his kitchen. This wasn't just anyone, this was Granger. The domineering, insightful, witty third of the Golden Trio. His used-to-be-sometimes enemy. He shouldn't think of her that way.

He sat her plate in front of her and placed his directly opposite, now was as good a time as any to begin talking about last night. She stared down at her plate momentarily before attacking her food.

"Granger," be began slowly. Hermione grunted in response.

"Malfoy, these are delicious. How did you ever learn to cook like this!?" She said, her mouth still half-full with his mushroom and bell pepper omelet.

"I've spent a couple of years here now. I've had plenty of time to practice. Besides" he began, "I like it. Kind of reminds me of potions, except I can eat this stuff," he said uncharacteristically grinning at her.

She chortled. "Always you men and food. I swear coming to the Burrow is like witnessing a small infestation of locusts. Especially when the twins are— I mean George…." She trailed off, her mistake deadening the mood. Draco watched as she looked down at her now decimated plate of omelets and began mindlessly pushing the food around.

"You know, I always liked those two," Draco said, trying to bring the conversation back around. "Even though they were sodding Gryffindors and Weasleys to boot. That stunt they pulled at the end of fifth year was probably the best I've ever seen."

She cracked a smile, presumably at the thought of their terribly pink, terribly terrible then Headmistress being "consumed" by a fiery red and gold dragon. "Yeah, they always were absolutely incorrigible."

"Not always the worst trait in the world," he said raising his eyebrows at her. _What the hell was that!? _He thought. _Bloody hell, did I just flirt with Granger. _

Granger narrowed her eyes, intently studying the odd man who had obviously replaced Draco Lucius Malfoy. Cooking and now… flirting? "Yes, well, I suppose you can speak for yourself Malfoy."

Draco cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yes, well. Shall we move on? I need to ask you some questions about last night."

"Right, well, I'm afraid there isn't a whole lot to tell Malfoy. Ron, Harry, and I stayed up late reminiscing about school and old times." Draco suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't want a three hour recap of the glories of the Golden Trio. "And then after," she continued, "we all went to bed. I was sleeping in Percy's old room and I woke up after hearing some noises down in the kitchen. I figured that it was just Ron or Harry pilfering around for a late night snack, but then I heard footsteps and shouting. I got out of bed and started running downstairs. When I got there I saw Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Mr. Weasley cornering three masked men. We started dueling them, in groups, but it soon became obvious that their main target was me. "

"Right, so how did you figure out one of them was Blaise."

"He yelled something at me. I recognized the voice." She said quietly.

"Well, what did he say Granger?"

"He said he knew my secret and that he'd get it from me, no matter what it cost him. Then he cast a slicing charm. That's how I ended up with this." She gestured down to her torn shirt and bandaged torso. "After that I don't remember much. I guess the impact made me drop my wand. Harry grabbed me and side apparted me here. By the time I got my bearings, he was already gone."

Draco listened silently, and after she was finished whispered, "Granger, I need to know what he's after. Was there any instance in which you and he interacted in any major way during Hogwarts?"

"No, never. To be honest, I don't really ever remember having a conversation with him."

"Well," he said trailing off, "I suppose that doesn't matter. Blaise was a deatheater. Obviously, if Potter was enemy number one, you and Weasley were a close second." Granger forcibly shuttered. "Why now? That's what I can't figure out."

"I don't know Malfoy," she murmured.

Draco grunted and looked down at his own omelet. He let his mind wander over his and Blaise's ten year friendship. What was his vendetta against Granger? He remembered their school yard conversations about the trio of Gryffindors. As young boys, their dislike had been more focused on Potter. He was the one everyone looked at, some sadly, some proudly. No one else seemed to matter when Harry Potter strolled in. They were jealous of the attention he got, and, perhaps, more than a little hurt that he wanted nothing to do with them. Granger hadn't been a focal point until later. At the end of third year, she had stepped off of the Hogwarts express the same awkward, frizzy haired know it all, only to come back for Fourth year taller, slimmer, and far more determined to dislike Draco and his friends. Draco imagined this had something to do with the events of the Quidditch World Cup. Now, the boys of Slytherin unwillingly began to take notice of Granger. For the first time, they saw her not only as the brain trust of Harry Potter's gang of pals, but as her own, rather attractive, person. It made them hate her more. Of course, Blaise had remarked on these changes, as any red blooded, fourteen year old boy would, but Draco could never remember him ever being particularly interested in the brunette. After Voldemort came back, all of that fell away. Their lives, his and his fellow Slytherins, became dark, black holes, all consumed with the choices and dangers ahead.

Hermione got up and silently took up his and her now empty plates. "You know," she said, turning on the water and then reaching for the dish soap, "you aren't such a terrible cook Malfoy."

Draco pulled his thoughts back to the surface, "Well Granger, I suppose you would be rather the expert at terrible cooking."

Her brow creased. "Wanker," she half mumbled. Draco strolled out of the kitchen with a grin on his face.

Draco had finally convinced Granger after he stepped out of the steamed up bathroom to take a shower of her own. "Goodness, Granger, I wasn't sure if that foul odor was you or your horrendous attempt at domesticity. Now, I'm most thoroughly sure that it is in fact coming from your person." After he thoroughly scourgified the couch from the night before, he sat back and took a deep breath. The fireplace glowed green shortly before Harry Potter and then Ron Weasley popped out.

Draco nodded at Harry, who returned his nod in his own tight lipped fashion. Weasley watched, not saying anything, but turning a rather unnatural shade of pink around the ears. Malfoy laughed inwardly as the vein in Ron's forehead began to pulse. Harry and Draco had worked out their own separate peace, mostly out of necessity. Weasley was not as willing to forgive the enemy.

Ron broke the silence first. "Where's Hermione?" He asked, looking around anxiously.

"Calm down, Weasley. I haven't done anything to your lovely… counterpart." Draco tilted his head up ever so slightly, trying his best to look as condescending as humanly possible. "Honestly, Weasley, could you anymore closely resemble a puppy? Good god, man."

Ron's only response was to turn a deeper red. He thrust his hands in the pockets of his pants and looked furtively towards the sound of running water coming from the rear of the small apartment. Draco looked down at the lavender duffel bag clutched in Harry's right hand.

"I'm sincerely hoping that isn't a permanent accessory for you, Potter. Color's all wrong." Harry cracked a smile briefly, "One of you fine gentlemen might want to take that to her while she's still showering. Merlin knows I'm not allowed within 20 feet of my own bathroom right now," Draco sneered as he finished his sentence. To think, outlawed from his own lavatory.

"Yeah, somehow I doubt Hermione wants that either," Harry said, making his way to the hallway.

"So, erm, Ron, how's business treating you?" Draco asked tentatively. After Fred's death, Ron had tried to fill his older brother's shoes at the joke shop.

Ron shifted his weight and his color dialed down to a semi-normal shade for human skin. "Ehh, it's alright. Hogwarts students always like a good joke, so I can't complain. How are, uh, things progressing?" He asked nudging his head toward the back of the apartment.

Draco was pleased that they somehow had managed to slip into a relatively comfortable conversation. "Not a lot to go off of. I keep running things through my head, and I don't remember Blaise ever having any particular interest in Granger."

"Well, I mean, he wouldn't would he? He being who he was, pure blood and Slytherin and all… Oh, uh, no offense." Ron said, pursing his lips and turning red again.

"None taken, I'm sure," said Draco tersely. The conversation died as Harry walked back in looking at both men, hands in their pockets, avoiding eye contact. Draco gave Harry a pleading look. They had tried at least.

"So what happened last night? I talked to Hermione, but she said she sort of walked into the middle of things," said Draco.

"Well," Harry started looking over at Ron, "Ron woke me up because he heard noises downstairs. I got up and grabbed my wand and we met Arthur on the landing of the stairs. We went down and found the guys snooping around in the kitchen. They were dressed like Death Eaters, Draco…"

Draco raised his eyebrows as Harry continued, "It was… unsettling, and then Hermione came down. As soon as they saw who it was, it was all they could focus on, almost like a frenzy. Blaise shouted at her and then cut her. She dropped her wand, so I grabbed her, apparated with her here, and then went back as quickly as I could."

"By the time I got back, they were gone. Ron said they appartated as soon as they realized she was gone."

"Right well, where do we go from here?" Draco asked.

Ron snorted, "Well it's obvious isn't it? We hunt the bastard. We hunt him, we find him, and we turn him over to Azkaban if there's still enough of him left after we're finished," Ron said.

"Right, well that's all very flattering, Ron, but physical violence on my behalf surely isn't necessary," a high pitch voice stated from the hallway. Hermione walked into the living room freshly dressed and equipped with her wand. "Right now, I just want to go back to the Burrow and we'll come up with a plan to track him down together."

Harry looked at her pleadingly, "Hermione, that isn't a good idea right now. Draco's apartment is safe, it has about every magical precaution imaginable. We don't know where Blaise is. We're fairly certain no one is lurking around at the Borrow, but we can't risk him hurting you. I need you to lie low and I need you to be protected. I've been asking around all week, and I have reason to believe that Blaise is basing his operation in Scotland. I need time to go check that out, and I need you safe. The last thing I want to do is walk his prize right into his hands."

"Couldn't I stay with Ron or my parents?" Hermione said looking over at Malfoy.

"Well, Ron refuses not to come with us, and your parents would be too obvious, besides the types of charms we would need to do to the house would be conspicuous. Please, Hermione be reasonable. Trust me, Draco's just about the safest person you could be with. It's not permanent, just for a couple days," explained Harry.

Ron cleared his throat, "Hermione as much as I hate to admit it, Harry has a point." Draco arched his eyebrows slightly at the red head's proclamation. Hermione largely resembled a fish newly introduced to land, scrambling to make sense of the situation.

She snapped her mouth closed and squinted her eyes speculatively, "Really, Ron. You too?"

"Bloody 'ell 'Mione, yes. It makes sense. Harry obviously trusts Malfoy and it means we won't have to worry about your safety."

"Granger," Draco said softly, "I understand your… misgivings about staying in my home, but I assure you, if Harry wants me to stay behind," he paused, waiting for Harry to answer that statement with a short nod of his head, "you'll be protected. You'll be safe. I promise." Draco paused and waited patiently. Granger was biting he lip, looking from side to side, clearly thinking it over. Finally, with an exacerbated sigh, she gave in.

"Fine, but I have two conditions."

The three men looked at each other rather happily. They didn't think it was going to be that easy.

"Alright, 'Mione," Ron began generously, "what do you need."

Hermione paused before speaking. "One, I want daily updates from you two. Let me know you're safe. She reached into the front pocket of the bag the boys had brought her. "Here," Draco watched as she handed Harry a piece of glass. Harry's eyes widened and looked at it suspiciously.

"Does it work like the last one?" Harry asked wistfully. Draco was surprised at the sadness in Harry's voice, all over a piece of glass.

"Yes, it took me ages to figure this out," Hermione began excitedly, "but it should work just like the one he gave you. I have the other one." She looked at Harry and Ron sternly, like a mother. "Now, I mean it. Daily. Give me your word."

"Yes, 'Mione." Ron said, now sounding more like a scolded child.

Harry just nodded, staring hard at the bit of mirror.

"Good, then. Second," she turned to face Malfoy. "Nicky gets to stay here."

"Nicky, who in the bloody fuck is Nicky?" Draco asked. Harry and Ron had already begun chuckling in the background.

Nicky, Draco soon learned (after Harry's short floo trip back to the burrow, bringing with him what seemed to be a hissing wicker basket), was the most hateful, fluffy, ridiculous cat in known existence.

"Oh, no. Absolutely not, Granger," Draco said, looking at the furry, beige beast.

"Fine," she said shortly. She turned to face Harry and Ron. "Alright boys, deal's off. Back to the Burrow I go."

Harry groaned and looked at Draco. "Really mate, it's only a cat and it's only for a few days. Besides," Harry said, stroking the top of Nicky's head, "he's not so bad." Immediately, Nicky, as if on cue, took this to be an open invitation to sink 22 sharp teeth into the soft flesh of Harry's thumb. Harry shouted, trying difficultly not to curse. "He's just nervous is all," Harry winced, cradling his bloody hand.

Draco gave a heavy sigh, "Granger, you have to stay here, and if that means putting up with this ridiculous fuzz ball, so be it." Nicky looked up at Hermione with sweet blue eyes, then promptly looked at Draco and hissed.

"Very well, then," Hermione said primly. "it's all settled." She looked at Harry and Ron apprehensively. "When will you be back?"

Harry grunted, still reeling from the attack from Jaws. "It's hard to say," he grimaced. "Probably by Wednesday, if all goes well."

Hermione nodded, Draco saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. He cleared his throat and stepped out of the room to the kitchen. He occupied himself with cleaning the rest of the dishes, wiping down the countertops, and humming to drown out the sound of Granger's tears.

"Shhhhhh, Hermione, it's all going to be alright," Harry's deep baritone assured her.

"When, Harry, when? I thought it was all over. I was almost ready to move on with my life. Every time, every single, fucking time we get a second to catch our breath, something else happens. We're never going to find peace." She continued on, but the rest was mumbled though tears. She hiccupped a few times and Draco heard them both say goodbye to her, followed by two short pops from the fireplace.

Draco concentrated on scrubbing the burnt remnants of Hermione's experiment from his stainless steel stove. He supposed this must be difficult for her. For the first time that he could remember, she was left behind, forced to wait instead of setting off with her best friends for another hair brained adventure. Draco kept scrubbing, forcing back his own demons. He remembered the rainy night in London when Elise had left, the dark night he sat alone in the Manor after Pansy had removed herself painlessly from his life.

His concentration was broken by a tiny squeak behind him. He threw the white hand towel over his shoulder and saw Granger standing there. Her eyes were still red, but she was in control of herself again.

"Mal-, uh, _Draco_," Draco felt his insides tighten, twist, and do a samba all at once. He never wanted it to happen again, but he didn't know what would happen if it didn't. Granger was focusing intently on a floor tile three feet in front her. "I just wanted to say thank you again, and… well, I'm sorry. I shouldn't hang on so closely to the people we were at Hogwarts. Things have obviously changed, you've changed." She said finally looking up at him and meeting his gaze. He had never noticed, but her eyes were the color of coffee, almond shaped, and, presently, bloodshot. "I'm sorry for being a prat. Can you forgive me?"

Draco looked down for a second and broke her gaze. "Hermione," the name still new to his tongue, "there's nothing to really forgive. Merlin knows I haven't always been your biggest fan. Just know that I really am nothing like I used to be…. Well, almost. I'm still the cockiest bastard in London." He looked back up at her, raised his eyebrows, and grinned at her.

She groaned, "Ugh, you really are terrible, Malfoy," she said smiling.

"Certainly not all bad, Granger?"

"That remains to be seen, Mr. Malfoy," She said, now her time to shoot him a coy smile. She stepped out of the kitchen and called back to him. "So, since I'm your captive or whatever, what do you have to entertain me?"

"Well," he said thinking a second. He wasn't exactly used to company. "I have cable… and, uh, I think there are some cards here somewhere."

"Merlin, Malfoy, what do you do for fun?"

"Fun? Granger, when have you ever known me to be _fun_?" He said rounding the corner into the living room.

"Fair point, Malfoy, but really what do you do all day?" She asked looking around the room.

"Honestly? I read, think, write. I don't know. I like time to myself. At the end of the day, I need that."

Hermione smiled knowingly. "Sometimes, at Hogwarts, I would go to the library, even when I had nothing to do. It was quiet. I liked that."

Draco looked at her appreciatively. "I do have one room here that you might find of interest…" He said. "Follow me."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello wonderful people. Thank you for being here. "You could be anywhere else in the world right now, and you're here with me. I appreciate that." **

**Anyway, just to let you know, I won't be posting much until after the first of the year. New Year's Day is my birthday and between that, Christmas, and some much needed family time, I won't be updating. Also, the first 4 and a half of these chapters I had already written before posting anything, so I imagine my posting speed is going to slow down considerably. I want to give you something that is at least passable in quality. That takes time. **

**In other news, I'm also working on a fremione fic as well. I hope to have the first couple of chapters up sometime soon after the first of the month. I'm also working on a couple dramione one shots, but I'm not sure where I'll go with those. I write and write, and if I hate it, I get rid of it. So if those make the cut, expect them as well. **

Draco led her back through the hallway back towards his bedroom. He heard her pause as he walked in the doorway and turned around to see her sputtering and slightly red around the ears.

"Very funny, Malfoy. I'm not exactly interested in any diversions that can be found in a bedroom… _your_ bedroom."

Draco sneered at the thought and rolled his eyes. He strolled past her and reached for the closet door.

"Good God, woman. I was only trying to show you my library, not pillage you on my bed. Which, I notice," he said looking at the disheveled comforter and twisted sheets, "you did not manage to make up this morning. Honestly, Granger, that's Goosedown…"

"Library!?" She said, cutting off what was setting up to be a pretty good rant, in Draco's opinion.

"Yes," he continued, sighing over the ignored, despicable state of his bed. "Come on, then," he said, growing impatient. He was beginning to regret his decision already.

As they walked through the doorway, Hermione's breath caught in her throat. It was beautiful, Draco's library. He had altered the walls with the same charm used in wizard tents and expanded the room to house several built-in, cherry bookshelves, his father's Rosewood desk, a cheery fireplace and two rather squishy armchairs. The floors were wood, but almost every inch was taken up by plush oriental rugs in cool blues and greens. Any space on the walls not taken up by books was covered in old, wizard photographs and maps. Hermione walked forward, letting her fingers run over the glossy shine of Malfoy's desk. Draco smirked to himself as she touched the smooth surface, his father must be rolling in his grave at the idea of a Muggle born touching a four hundred year old Malfoy heirloom.

"Draco," she sighed, sounding every bit like a lover crooning.

There it was again, that awful flipping sensation in Draco's gut. He opted to ignore it and the breathy, husky quality of her voice.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, adoringly.

Draco leaned against the doorframe, "Quite, if I do say so myself. I always wanted my own library growing up. Lucius had his study, but it was rather off limits."

Hermione, who had been busily studying the books Draco had painfully organized in alphabetical order, paused and looked at him.

"You call him by his first name?" Draco had the sneaking suspicion he heard pity in her voice.

"Obviously," he said succinctly. "Jesus Granger, for the smartest witch I've ever met, you certainly can be rather thick sometimes."

Granger's brows kitted together, but she didn't take the bait. She was inquisitive, he noticed, and wretchedly persistent when something piqued her interest. "You didn't used to."

"Yes, well, I also used to have some rather nasty views about human beings who didn't happen to be exactly like me, as well. Just like you said, Granger, don't hold on to who I was. You'll be disappointed."

"What made you change so much? What was it that brought you around?" She asked, stepping closer to him.

"You have a penchant for getting rather personal, Granger," Draco smirked, "perhaps you should be the investigator."

"Sorry," she mumbled looking down. "I didn't… I shouldn't have," she stopped and took a big breath, meeting his eyes along the way, "I guess I shouldn't have presumed you'd want to talk about it. Merlin knows I don't like to remember parts of it." At this her right hand moved to rub her left upper arm. She turned her head to the side and stared rather hard at one of the maps on the wall.

Draco winced audibly. It's hard to forget when someone gets tortured on your ballroom floor. The same floor you used to sit on to open Christmas presents, the same place you had your first awkward kiss.

"Yeah," Draco said dumbly. He was there with her too, miles away watching his auntie carve words into soft human flesh. He shook his head to block out her screams and focused back into the warmth of his secret library, now not quite a secret. "Right," he said walking into the room, "we have your standard Wizarding fare over there to your left, reference books, maps, diaries and such on the back wall. In that corner," he pointed to the back right, directly behind one of the squishy chairs, "is some specially stuff. Old magic, old lore, runes work, things like that. And last," he said gesturing to the right wall, "is my collection of Muggle authors."

"Really!? You have so many of my favorites here," she said walking to the shelves.

"Yes, well, you're welcome to any of it, all I ask is please put them back where they go. I'm," Draco ran his hand through his hair, "well, I'm rather particular about it."

Hermione walked over, grabbing his copy of _A Farewell to Arms_ and pulling it off the shelf. Draco was silent, trying not to make this a big deal. It had been a present from Elise. She thought he would like Hemmingway's terseness. She had been correct. Here he was in his private sanctuary with his sort-of-used-to-be, frizzy-haired enemy, who was presently fingering one of his most prized possessions. He shuddered visibly, haunted again by bouncy brown hair and chubby little legs. He tried and failed to block the memories of the hair falling out, the legs going gaunt. Draco had felt like Fredric that night in too many ways. He would have made any deal to save Anna, any at all. He had walked back from Elise's flat in the rain, feeling as though he was the one who had died.

"Malfoy…." Draco barely heard Granger calling to him. He looked up at her, wide eyed, startled. "Malfoy, thank you for this."

Draco grunted and walked out of the library, trying to clear his head. "You're welcome. Just remember, alphabetical order," Draco called over his shoulder.

He heard her groan and describe rather unflattering places he could, "shove his alphabetization system." Draco chuckled, quietly.

Draco was convinced a ghost had moved in with him. He heard nothing but the occasional bump from his bedroom for the past day and a half. He had configured his couch into a pull out and had bunked out in the living room. He had occupied himself by making a quick trip to the Ministry and coming back with several boxes, all labeled _Zambini, B._ Inside one of these boxes he had also tucked a rather thick file on one _Granger, H. _He had informed his secretary that he wouldn't be in until at least Wednesday, and so he sat patiently going through the files, one by one, looking for anything that might be helpful, even though he'd read all of them before. As he sat in his living room surrounded by files and _mess_, he had silently cursed himself for not buying a bigger space with spare bedrooms. But honestly, who would have used them? Who was going to come and visit?

Granger would emerge from the bedroom every so often to eat or slip off to the bathroom. Finally, late in the rainy Sunday evening as Hermione was eating a sandwich in the kitchen, Draco looked up from his makeshift bed. Granger had been studying him, studying the files for the fifth time through.

"Find anything interesting?" She asked, ripping off part of the sandwich and poking it in her mouth.

Draco groaned, "Uh, no," Draco rubbed his eyes. "Nothing I didn't already know about either of you, I guess. I just don't get it. He wants some sort of secret out of you, some piece of information, but I can't for the bloody life of me figure out what it is."

Hermione broke his gaze, Draco squinted and studied her intently. "You know, if you know something, it would be much more helpful for you to just come out and say it. You haven't been honest with me, Granger."

Hermione didn't answer him and instead went on quietly munching her sandwich. Draco sat silently, biting back his now rising temper. "What is it that you are trying to hide, Granger?"

"Malfoy, you know there are things that we could never say about Voldemort's defeat. The things we had to do to beat him, we broke a lot of rules and dealt with magic that needs to be left alone."

"Granger, don't you see that it doesn't matter if you keep the secret from me. He's already out there; he's already hunting for you. The thing I can't figure out is why he's looking for you. Wouldn't Weasley or Harry be just as good for that information? Why just you? Why now?"

"I don't know Malfoy," she said lamely, "I don't know what he's after, I can only guess and until we're more sure, I'd really rather not share that information."

Malfoy groaned and flung the files back into the banker's boxes. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Granger," he began, "look I get that you don't trust me, and that's really all well and good. Frankly, I couldn't give a damn about how you feel about me, but you're preventing me from doing my job. You're making it personal."

Hermione smirked and continued to eat her sandwich, "Funny, Malfoy, I always thought it was rather personal between us. Why should now be any different? Sure, you might have changed your feelings about Muggles and Muggle-borns, but you can't really think I'd just forget that and immediately fall into your arms as a comrade either? It doesn't work that way."

"Enough!" Draco said, standing to face her, "I brought you into my house, kept you from bleeding to death, and agreed to house you for no benefit of my own. Isn't that enough?" He asked. He paused a second, waiting for her response. He scoffed, "No… It never is going to be enough for you, huh, Granger? It's never going to be e-fucking-nough."

Draco began down the hallway to his bedroom, but turned first, "You know Granger, I don't think anyone could argue that the person who lost the most in all of this is Harry-savior-of-the-magical-universe-Potter, and he trusted me enough not only to make my house the safe house, but also to leave one of the few people he genuinely cares about in this world in my protection."

Hermione began to speak, but Draco didn't hear. All he could think about was the condescension in Granger's face and the pulse of blood around his ears. He shut the door to the bedroom and laid down on his (still unmade) bed. Letting out a frustrated groan, he got up, waved his wand, and the covers fixed themselves. He lay down and began counting the speckles and cracks in the ceiling. He was pouting, but at this moment he couldn't persuade himself to be the bigger person. She was absolutely insufferable, just the way he had remembered her all those years ago, frustratingly pigheaded and so bloody _noble._ She honestly thought she was doing the world a favor by keeping her mouth shut, to protect it from some sort of evil magic, even if that meant that she was risking her own damned neck to do so.

Malfoy's brooding was interrupted by gentle purring. He looked over to his shoulder to the chair against the wall. Nicky was sitting there staring at him with guileless blue eyes. Draco stared back at the cat, thinking. He had heard rumors after the war. He knew that the Golden Trio had spent a year traipsing all over Great Britain looking for magical items, trying to destroy them slowly one by one. Doing so seemed to wound Voldemort, but make him far more terrifying to have in the manor day in and out. He shivered as he remembered the wrath of Voldemort after The Gringotts incident. The House Elves cleaned for days and still afterword you could smell the iron tang of blood. Draco had grown so tired of blood.

Afterword, the Trio had been rather tight lipped about their travels and the defeat of Voldemort. Talking a lot about how Harry had defeated the curse once, why not again? In doing so he had protected all of them, keeping the rest of them safe for the rest of the battle. Only after months of speculation and one rather nasty piece claiming that, just as before, Voldemort would come back, did Harry come out and state that the items they had been hunting for held been the key to his defeat. The items were what helped Voldemort prolong his life in the first place. When Voldemort disappeared that day at Hogwarts, he had died. Forever. Gone.

Draco had done his own research and realized what Harry had meant. Horcruxes. No bloody wonder it had taken them so long, from what Draco could tell they were near impossible to destroy. This was all well and good, but he doubted that magic was what Blaise was after. He sincerely doubted Blaise would be powerful enough as to perform the magic in the first place, and it still didn't explain why he was so determined to get at Granger. No, that wasn't it. Maybe he was after something to do with her research. Something she had spent time working on privately, but how would Blaise have known any of that? Granger did her best to stay out of the lime light, other than giving bits and snippets of her research at conferences, she hadn't made much of it public to his knowledge, let alone to a man who had been out of the country for several years.

Draco put his hands behind his head, counting as before and trying to focus his mind on the pieces of the puzzle before him. Draco had to face the fact that until Granger chose to spill the beans, he wouldn't have the information he needed to figure it out. He needed her cooperation. He needed her help.


End file.
